


The Kitchen Debate

by JoAsakura



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-17
Updated: 2008-11-17
Packaged: 2017-10-03 04:30:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoAsakura/pseuds/JoAsakura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A hot spot in the cold war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Kitchen Debate

July 24, 1959, Moscow.

Nixon and Khrushchev had been extolling the virtues of their competing ideologies for far too long, Russia thought as the two leaders sat in the dollhouse like construction the americans had brought for their exhibition.

No one particularly noticed the two young men standing near both Vice President Nixon and Premier Khrushchev, despite their good looks. It was because those two men were Nations, and their presence was expected, but rarely discussed.

From his position next to the Soviet Premier, Russia watched as America stood behind Nixon, his face set in a bland, pleasant expression. Russia hated that expression, that plastic mask of Hollywood-star good looks that America cultivated. The other Nation was in a suit, rather than the fatigues Ivan was used to seeing him in, but he'd obviously fought for the right to wear his battered flight jacket over it.

The more Russia looked at that perfect face with his golden hair and faintly tanned skin, blue eyes hidden behind glasses (that Alfred needed no more than that poncy bastard Austria did), the more Russia wanted to break him into tiny bits.

He didn't want to break America like he had Germany. It was true, seeing Ludwig bowed before him, the German Nation spending half a year in Ivan's house like some Teutonic Persephone. It humiliated Ludwig, and Ivan found that delicious.

But that wasn't what he wanted to do to that smugly cheerful child across from him. The European Nations had been civilised by Old Roma for so long, he thought, that they had forgotten the half-wild, dirty creatures they had been in the beginning. Not him, though. Russia remembered the Cossacks, the Huns, all the fierce warriors that had thundered across his steppes. And he knew that behind that perfect mask, America was still feral. He just had to scratch the surface far enough to show that shame to the world.

The debate ended and the two leaders were shown out of the fake house, their staffs following along as they went to the reception waiting for them. Ivan knew it would be time for America to wander off soon because his own patience was at it's limit, and Alfred's attention span was almost non-existent.

There, on cue, the other Nation excused himself and wandered out of the gallery of American art back to the fake house stocked with the excessive goods of western capitalism. "Alfred." Ivan said cheerfully as America shook a cigarette out of his pack.

"Ivan." He drawled. "Come to see if there's anything here you want? I'm sure I can arrange it."

"Actually, there is." Russia grabbed the smaller Nation then, dragging him in close for a brutally harsh kiss. It was a gamble, really. Even though Ivan had the advantage in height and weight, Alfred was freakishly strong, a fact proven when America hauled off and slugged Russia hard enough to have taken off the head of a normal human.

Russia staggered back, holding his face, but with a grin he saw the damage had been started. Alfred's glasses were askew and his blue, blue eyes were wild. His lips were ruddy from the force of the kiss. It was only a moment before America grabbed Russia's coat and dragged him forward, returning the kiss with ferocious intent.

The two of them grappled, fingers tangling painfully in each other's hair as they kissed, Ivan finally using his scarf to bind Alfred's wrists together. The scarf wouldn't hold unless America was distracted and Russia determined to do that, dragging his nails down Alfred's sides, tearing at his clothes to expose that tanned skin. They kissed some more, Alfred's teeth sharp on Ivan's throat, determined to leave his mark.

Alfred was so hard, and his face, under a tousled veil of gold, was wild and needy. Ivan had half a mind to leave him like that, but it wouldn't do. He wanted to break him fully, this upstart little bastard, wanted America to scream his name.

He stripped, exposing his pale,solid body and barely lubricated himself. Ivan thrust hard into Alfred, thrilling at the hot flesh parting for him. He was so disappointed when Alfred didn't scream, only hissed his breath in and writhed against.

They pressed close and Ivan bit him, even as Alfred dug his nails into Russia's scalp. "I hate you." one of them breathed, but even Ivan wasn't certain which one it was.

Russia cursed, feeling the orgasm surge in him, trying to think of General Winter or Khrushchev naked to slow down his own need, but it was too late and he came, grunting against Alfred's sweat-sheened chest. In the hazy moment afterwards, he felt Alfred's own come spatter hot between them, harsh whimpers rasping in Ivan's ear.

They lay tangled together, panting, for several long moments. "I win." America said after a long breath. "You came first." Ivan watched the other Nation's face as Alfred disentangled himself, straightening his clothes as best he could.

The wildness in his eyes faded as he pressed his glasses back into place. "I'll see you later, Russia." his voice was cold, even if his cheerful mask was pasted back on.

As Ivan watched his retreating back he thought. (Next time. I will push you harder. I will push you much harder and see if you break then, Alfred.)


End file.
